Prison
by That-Fresh-Rain-Smell
Summary: Harry Sacrifices himself to get Snape out of prison...Character death, OOC Oneshot


_**Prison**_

"Are you sure you want to do this, Mister Potter?" The warden of the Wizarding prison Azkaban asked. Harry Potter nodded, his black hair flicking across his face, contrasting greatly with his vivid green eyes. The warden sighed, shaking his head almost sadly, and handed him a stack of papers, which Harry looked carefully through before signing. He handed them back to the man in the order he had received them. The warden looked over them and nodded.

"Please come with me, Mister Potter," The warden said, standing. Harry stood with him, and the man put his hand on the younger man's shoulder in a show of comfort. Harry flinched a bit, and the warden withdrew, blushing slightly, following Harry out the door, and closing it behind him. They walked down seemingly endless and dark corridors, with faint lights swinging above their heads. Men in the cells around them called out in desperate voices, though these were the minor criminals and no dementors patrolled the corridors unless it was the last Friday of each month, and that was just to keep the prisoners in check. The warden turned a deaf ear to them, looking sidelong at Harry's face to see his reaction. Harry's face remained calm; his only motion was blinking and scratching his head. They passed into the higher security area, higher up and deeper into the prison. These criminals got one daily visit from dementors, and most had done something to deserve it. Most, but not all.

Deeper and deeper they went until they had reached the maximum-security part, where these unlucky prisoners had a dementor outside their door for as long as they stayed. And here, your only way out was death. They stopped outside the door of the first maximum-security hallway and waited while a crowd of staff surrounded them. The mix of cooks, key keepers and guards performed the spell that retained the dementors effect for two hours of time on the warden and Harry. The warden explained to Harry that a certain amount of people had to cast the spell, and only certain people knew it, for if it was widely known, there would be no purpose of dementors. The guards followed them as well as one of the key holders as they made their way down the dank hall to cell number 513. Harry and the warden stood back as the key keeper unlocked the strong, metal cell door and the guards held up their wands vigilantly. The door swung open with a loud creak and the guards rushed in, surrounding the prisoner inside. The warden and Harry entered the small room and the key keeper waited respectfully outside, not that he could have fit anyway. Two of the guards removed Severus Snape's metal cuffs that were chained to the wall and each grabbed hold of one of his arms. Snape looked around at the group with hollow eyes, and when his black orbs caught on Harry, they held. A question formed in their depths, but it seemed the man could not emit a sound, and his eyes just roamed Harry up and down, as if he could find an answer there. The other two guards grabbed Harry lightly and cuffed him with the same metal that had moments ago held Snape. As the guards let go of his arms and Harry lowered them, Snape caught sight of two cuts, one on each wrist, starting at the base of his palm, on the side where his thumb was, and twining diagonally down until it wrapped around the back. The cuts were almost identical, and looked deep enough to kill, if no one had stopped the bleeding. Due to Harry's thinness and pale skin, he hadn't been taking care of himself, and had perhaps attempted suicide. There were other small, thin white lines that ran across his arms, but none so deep and raised as the two identical ones.

Snape continued to look at Harry, searching for an answer.

"Mister Potter has taken your place at the Wizarding prison, Azkaban. You are free to go and are cleared of all charges, your crimes now rest upon the shoulders of the man you see before you," the warden said heavily to Snape, and then started to lead him away. Snape held Harry's eyes with his own until he was forced to turn and look ahead, and Harry hung his head, in no particular show of emotion. The guards took time to give Harry a curious look before exiting the cell as well. The door slammed shut, and Harry Potter was left in darkness.

"Sign here," the warden said stiffly, pointing to a piece of paper with his pen, and then handing the pen to Snape. Snape took it slowly and looked it over, seeing the slightly sloppy signature of his former student already standing out on the white paper. He signed it slowly, looking at his growing signature in distaste. It had been two years since he had written anything, and his signature was even worse than Harrys, which was saying something. When he had finished he looked up at the warden, eyes voicing his unspoken question. The warden sighed.

"No one knows why he did it. After he defeated he-who-must-not-be-named, the ministry said they would grant him one thing in thanks, but that thing could not be the freeing of a prisoner without a due sacrifice. For reasons only known to him, Harry's choice was to replace you in prison. He will live out your life sentence while you run free." There was a touch of distaste in the man's voice, but Snape, being used to it, simply ignored it. "The ministry was against it, of course, but could find no way to stop it, so in the end were forced to allow it. Harry requested that if you did not have a place to stay or stable funds, you were to be allowed entrance to his home, and could stay there as long as you wished, or make it your own. If you do not have any money, he also requested a second key to his vault in Gringotts be made for you, and you can draw on it as needed, his exact words were 'its not going anywhere, he can do as he pleases with it'. As for your position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmistress McGonnagall expressed great displeasure in having you return, but said if you wish, the place is open to you and your needs. Do you have any questions?" Snape opened his mouth and a croak emerged, sounding as if a knife was sawing at his voice box. The warden's face scrunched and he swished his wand, making glass of water appear. When Snape downed it in one gulp, the warden refilled it. Finally the man was able to speak, though it was in a soft, whispery voice.

"Is Mister Potter going through some form of depression?" Snape asked, frowning at the sound of his voice. The warden looked pained.

"He hasn't been in to St. Mungo's, if that's what you mean. But every last one of his friends and anyone he considered family died in the war, and he has been traveling far and wide, perhaps in hopes to get away. Though we know not to condemn him or even to speak it out loud, the spell that Harry used to kill the Dark One also killed every other person on that battlefield. So, technically, Harry killed all his family and friends. When such a strong person suffers such a great loss, I feel it must only be natural to be depressed. I cannot understand how he is even still breathing. I think he wants to repent, punish himself or something, by replacing you--" The warden stopped abruptly.

"I apologize for going into such detail and sharing my own opinions in such a personal matter." The man said formally. He handed Snape a small golden key ring with four different keys. "This is to his home, this is his Gringotts one, this is the top lock of his house, and this is his flying motorcycle. You are free to go, Severus Snape. One of the guards will escort you to where you would like to be. Do you have your own residence or would you like to stay in Harry's for the time being…?"

"I think I shall have no choice but to stay in Mr. Potters home, since the ministry demolished all that I own," Snape said slowly, taking the keys.

"Very well. A guard will escort you to mister Potters only estate." The warden motioned to a man outside the door, and watched as Severus was led away. He shook his head and got out a large bottle of firewiskey and a shot glass; tonight was going to be a long one.

The guard took Snape to the nearest fireplace that was connected to the floo network and handed him some of the green powder. The man stepped into the fireplace and said clearly, "Harry Potter". Snape followed the man seconds later, the name Harry feeling strange on his lips. He arrived in a medium-sized home. It wasn't large, like Malfoy Manor, and it wasn't Small, like his father's home. The guard bid him goodbye, saying that the fireplace would be disconnected to the floo promptly after he returned. Snape nodded, and after the guard had gone, laid down on the couch, exhausted, falling asleep.

Harry sat on the small bench that was conveniently placed in the only place he could sit, his arms already tired. He looked around, and through the scant light that came from the crack under the door, he could see he was in a small, cement cell, with a heavy wooden door that had four locks on it, and probably millions of different spells. The walls were barren, there was a smeared stain that could have been blood on the wall next to his right hand, and a small bucket found under the bench stank so bad he wondered if his sense of smell would exhaust itself soon. His wrists were bound by strong metal cuffs, which were attached to a strong silver chain that was spelled to never break, rust or let go. The chain connected solidly with the wall, the length of it enough so that he could stand and pace, but not go beyond the door. There was nothing in the ceiling, and if he stretched he could reach the door with the tip of his feet while still sitting, as the door was right across from him. All in all, not much room. But that was fine. The dementor floating outside his door hadn't started to affect him yet, for the spell was still in tact. He was curious to see if there was anything the dementor could do to him anyway, he didn't count any thoughts in his head as happy anymore anyway. The only thought that comforted him somewhat was that Snape was free. A small part of him marveled at his true insanity, freeing the man who had killed Dumbledore, but the rest of him ignored it, as always.

He looked up at the silver, gleaming cuffs on his wrists. _At least they cover the scars,_ he thought. A few months ago, when he realized how pointless his whole existence was, he had tried to kill himself. He felt no regret, no remorse. The only thing that had made him close the wounds last time were the thought that Snape was still in prison. He figured if he could free someone and die, it would be better than just dieing. At least here his death would be drug out, like it should be. He sighed. Then why was death so boring? The only thing that had caused him even momentary emotion was Snape, and the man was gone. For good, it he had any sense. _Why_ he had to like Snape, though, that was the real question. He probably would never really know the answer. Something about the snarky bastard made him do odd things. Like replace him in Azkaban.

Harry rest his head against the wall and sighed again, closing his eyes. Maybe it would have just been better to die last time, when he had had a chance to go quickly.

Snape woke to a bright light on his face. He rolled over--and fell promptly off the couch. He got up quickly, senses alert for anyone who had seen, and relaxed when he remembered where he was. He looked around. To the left of him was a door, at his back was the fireplace, to the right a staircase. The couches were a dark black and very comfortable, centered around the fireplace. The hard wood floor was solid and comforting, bare of a rug of any kind. To the front of him was what looked like a kitchen, ordinary as ever, white tile and all. Snape looked up to see the source of light that had woken him. Wonderful--a skylight. Shaking his head, Snape turned to his right and started climbing the stairs. At the top of the landing, he came face to face with a door that, when opened, led to a green bathroom. Green tiles, green towels, green everything. Not the repulsive green though, more like jade, the same color as Harry's eyes…Snape shook his head to rid himself if these musings, and turned right down the hallway. He opened the only other door on the right side and found a guest room. Plain, with the main color white. Snape turned and walked down the opposite way, opening what must be Harry's door. Right across from the door was a king size bed, with black sheets, and silver and black pillows and comforter. On the bedside table there was a muggle alarm clock and a pair of glasses, presumably Harry's. There was a closet to the left of the door and to the right, there were five, evenly spaced bookshelves, full to the brim with books, big and small. The bookshelves were about three feet wide and reached to the ceiling, quite impressive--for Potter. There was a small window by the bed, with black curtains, the carpet was black, and the walls were black; with glowing dots of light, magicked to twinkle like stars.

"Much darker than you would think the golden boy's room would be," Snape muttered to no one in particular before turning and closing the door behind him. He strode downstairs and into the kitchen. On the kitchen counter there was a note.

_Dear Snape,_

_I love my cabinets. This might seem like an odd thing to say, but wait till you see what they do! Well, I don't want you to wait, so I'll tell you now. They refill themselves! Any time your getting low; they will restock with your favorite food. My favorite foods are in there now, and I hope you don't mind, cause they won't restock till the food is eaten. Sorry. So, I hope you are in somewhat good health, and I wish you a good life. Feel free to use any of my belongings, but I have to ask that, if you sleep in my room (I'm sure you can tell which one it is) please do not go through the things in the top dresser drawer. The rest is yours. Not sure why I care about the stuff in that drawer, its not like I'll be back, right? Oh well. _

_I'm sure you, like many others, are wondering why I've done this, and I find that someone who murdered one or two people they cared about isn't as bad as someone who killed everyone they care about, so I belong in prison and not you. The voice in my head that sounds an awful lot like you tells me that this is ridiculous reasoning, but all I can do is shrug. Besides that, I find that you (yes, you) are the only person left in this world that I care about. And since I don't really care about my well being anymore, I think its only best to make sure the last person on earth that you care about get a chance to live. So, I traded with you. Good luck!_

_Harry_

Snape finished reading this, and left it for later pondering. He went and opened a cabinet and saw a very large stock of food. Choosing some that looked good, he cooked it and sat down to eat. Halfway through his meal, an owl appeared in the window, pecking impatiently at the glass. Snape got up and walked over to the window, opening it curiously, taking the letter the owl profited, and watched it fly off before he looked back down at the envelope.

_Severus Snape_

_Harry Potter's Home_

_Kitchen_

The simple, usual-style address, in unfamiliar handwriting. He opened it cautiously, feeling for the first time since it was broken, nakedness without his wand. The letter was short and to the point.

_You are permitted to visit Prisoner 495 at any time you see fit, given the special circumstances. If Prisoner 495 does not get regular visits each month, the special circumstances will be terminated and you will no longer be able to visit. _

There was no return address or signature. Snape shook his head. Why would he visit Potter when the foolish boy had gotten himself into this mess himself? He supposed he would go, just in case there was something Harry had to say. He returned to his seat, decision made, and started contemplating the letter from Harry. _He_ was the only person or thing left in this world that the boy cared about? Unlikely. If Harry still cared about anyone after the war, it was definitely not him. And yet, what if he was? What if, for some strange and twisted reason, Harry cared for Snape? That seems to be the only reason he would exchange places with him. By the scars on his wrists, Harry didn't care much if he lived or died, and actually wanted to die, so, he could either die without anything good coming from it, or he could die and save someone he cared about. Or what if it was as he had said, that he had killed more people he cared for than Snape--which wasn't exactly true--and thus the more dangerous criminal should be in jail. Snape shook his head. He was still too foggy, too tired to think about this right now.

He cleaned his plate and went back upstairs. At the top of the landing, he stood for a moment, undecided, and then finally turned left and disappeared into Harry's room. He transfigured some of Harry's clothes to some that suited him, and walked over to the bathroom, where he proceeded to shower and change, brushing out his now silky hair. Oh how he had missed the showers! He decided to see what books Potter had and went back into his room, discarding his prison clothes. He was impressed. Harry had collected a very rare collection of books. All were rare in their fashion, some had only been printed three times, some had stopped being printed before Harry had been born, and all had to do with magic. Many Snape had never even seen, only heard of. Some Snape hadn't heard of. Bending down, he saw that on the very bottom shelf sat a range of muggle books. Some were about psychology; others about large disasters like the Holocaust, some others were what Dumbledore called rare. Snape raised his brows. Why had Potter collected such an odd assortment of books?

He stood straight up and looked around the room. He spied the dresser and started wondering what could be in the top drawer. A rare sense of honor overcame him. If Potter didn't want him to see, he would not look. After all, the brat did free him from prison. Snape took one of the books on D.A.D.A and sat down on the soft bed, ready for one of those long nights of reading that he hadn't gotten for 3 years.

Harry looked up when the door opened, the pale, dim light making him cover his eyes--it felt like the sun compared to the darkness he had been living in. The warden walked in, followed by two guards.

"Mr. Potter, Severus Snape is allowed visiting hours at any time he feels the need. I just wanted to warn you in case he shows up in the middle of the night. Good day," And without a wave or goodbye, he was gone, and Harry was left yet again.

Harry didn't know how long it had been since the warden had left, all sense of time had abandoned him after a short while--or maybe it was a long while? --But soon, or maybe long after he had gone, the door opened again. Harry tried to perceive who it was, but the figure was so dark he blended in with the shadows. The door closed and the man sat down next to him on the small bench, releasing an involuntary shudder.

"Snape?" Harry croaked. It was completely black again, and Harry could not see the person besides him anymore, he could only feel the warm presence that sat next to him.

"Yes," a soft voice said. They sat in silence.

"Look I don't want you to be here if you feel guilty or anything, go live your life. I didn't even know you would be allowed to visit…what time is it?"

"It was about 3am when I left your house." Snape said, "and I find it interesting that you would so readily give up your life, and yet tell me to go live mine. What if I don't want to?" Harry was startled.

"You don't want to live?"

"I really don't see a point. At least when the order was still around and there was a war to fight I was useful,"

"You could always go back to teaching," Harry tried.

"No I could not." Harry didn't argue. Who would want a former Death Eater and murderer as a spy?

"Then I don't know. At least in Azkaban you were dieing anyway, maybe I shouldn't of--"

"I never said I wanted to die, just that I didn't see a point in living, as of yet. But with your resourceful library, I might later retract that statement."

"Its something, isn't it?" Harry said dreamily.

"That it is." They were quiet again.

"I noticed the cuts on your wrists, and after the notes I found it was obvious you were suicidal. Any particular reason?"

"There just isn't a reason to live. I have no one left."

"Mr. Potter, that does not mean that you won't find a reason, or meet someone. You can't one day decide that if there isn't a reason now, there will never be one,"

"Your pretty optimistic."

"I'm realistic."

"Whatever. Is there any particular reason you visited, or are you just guilty? Don't be guilty, go live."

"Says the suicidal teen."

"Hey, I'm eight—"

"_Teen_, yes, I know. Have you ever known me to feel guilt, Mister Potter? I am merely obligated to visit the man who sprang me from prison,"

"Obligation, guilt, same thing." Snape felt Harry shrug beside him.

"One of them has honor,"

"Guilt doesn't have honor?"

"I am not going to give myself a headache trying to explain something to someone such as you," Snape said loftily.

"Someone such as me…" Harry's voice drifted off and Snape did not query about his thoughts.

"I found it interesting that, according to your little note, _I_ am the only thing that's really important to you now." He said instead. He felt Harry shrug again.

"I love you," Said so bluntly! Snape was taken aback for a moment, then said coolly,

"You must be mistaken, no one loves me,"

"I do," always stubborn, this one.

"You _don't_, Potter."

"Whatever," Harry mumbled, seeing that he obviously wasn't going to get through to him. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while, until Snape, who obviously had dismissed this notion, brought up another touchy subject, which was similar, but different.

"So have you always been gay?"

"Its hard to explain."

"Might as well, its not like we're rushed for time."

"Well, I'm not sure. I just always figured I was straight, but after Ginny, I kinda had to reconsider. Ginny was sweet, but in the end I thought of her more as a sister than anything, and I didn't like any other girls. I didn't really like any other boys either, unless you counted you, which started before Cho, I just ignored it until after Ginny when I was forced to accept it. And after that I haven't found myself liking anyone besides you."

"So, basically, you're asexual until it comes to me, or perhaps bisexual is a better word, since you liked two other girls and only one male…"

"I guess. I don't really think about it too much, I mean, why think about your sexual preferences if you don't want anyone besides the one you lo—"

"You don't love me Potter,"

"Its back to this again," Harry commented.

"So it is. I might as well bring up my other thought, since we seem to be bearing your soul here,"

"What is it?"

"Well there is a considerable age difference, and by your recollection, you have liked me since before fourth year."

"Yeah, so?"

"How does that make you feel?"

"Are you my shrink or something? And since when does Severus Snape want to know how someone feels?"

"I am merely curious as to the thoughts that run through your head. Its fascinating, the notions you come up with. I'm trying to comprehend and understand what makes you think you love me."

"I _do_ lo—"

"Are you going to answer my question, or continue repeating the same thing like a broken record?"

"Allright. At first I felt bad, wrong, maybe, not right. Like something inside me wasn't supposed to be there. I mean, I was 13 maybe, and you were…now that I think of it, how old _are_ you?"

"Now? About 39. Then? Well, I'm sure you can do the math."

"Oh, ok. So anyway, I rejected it, ignored it, pretended it wasn't real and refused to belive I even felt that way. But after a time, when it didn't go away, I realized I couldn't keep ignoring it, and that you can't really help how you feel about a person." Harry's cool acceptance of his age startled Snape. He figured that once the boy knew his true age he would give up his deluded fantasy.

"Okay."

"So why do you think that no one loves you?"

"Well, I tend to kill anyone who tries to love me, and figure if I go about refusing to belive that anyone loves me, their love will diminish in time. Not like it helped with Dumbledore," Harry hadn't missed that choked sound behind the mans words.

"That night…gods, after that night, I tried so desperately to hate you. But my mind kept thinking up different scenarios that pled your innocence. And I realized that trying to hate you wouldn't work, and even if you had killed me, or any of my friends or family, I still would love you." Snape was quiet for a time, then,

"You are perhaps the only one alive today that doesn't blindly blame me without thinking of possible reasons," He commented.

"Will you tell me?"

"I am not going to divulge this right now."

"Allright," Harry said, respecting his choice. "Since I'm going to die anyway, there's no need in killing me and I can love you as much as I want without fear." He said, almost smugly, as if he had found a way around Snape's logic.

"I would not want to fall in love with someone who would die shortly, assuming that I can still love," Severus countered. Silence stretched between them; soon both became lost in thought until Harry spoke.

"Next time…if you come and visit me again, I think I won't be here. I mean…I'm already dieing, I was weak when I came in and the dementors are taking what strength I have left, so I don't think I will be here." A hand touched Snape. Since there was total darkness, it seemed Harry had reached out blindly, guessing the general place that Snape was. His hand connected with a shoulder, and he turned his body so that he was facing Snape's side. Moved his hand over slowly, inching past the fringe of soft black hair until he found Snape's throat. He brought his hand further up until his thumb was just under the man's ear, fingers dipped into the slight dip that connected his head and neck.

"What are you doing?" Snape's asked quietly. He had inkling, but refused to acknowledge it. (Of course) Instead of an answer, the hand on his neck pressed and turned slowly until Snape's head and upper body were facing Harry. Warm breath ghosted Snape's lips and mingled with his own; Harry must be closer than he had thought. Then soft lips touched his lightly, warm and inviting. Severus hesitated for merely a moment, kissing Harry back with no regrets, lips tingling at the feelings that rushed through him when Harry touched him.

Harry pulled away first looking at him fiercely, not that it did much, seeming as how it was pitch black.

"I love you," he insisted. "I want you to agree with that, and not necessarily return it, before you leave. So I can die more peacefully than I otherwise would have—" he was cut off, thanks to the returning pressure on his lips. Snapes tongue ran across the middle edge of both his lips and Harry parted them eagerly, his tongue meeting the other happily. Harry pushed gently at Severus until he scooted backwards, his back connecting with the wall. Finding this uncomfortable, he moved his legs up onto the bench. Harry followed him; one of his hands still on the mans neck while the other supported his weight against the wall, his knees to either side of Snape's hips. Harry pulled away again.

"Admit it or accept it," he said.

"Are you still insecure about how I feel?" Snape mused curiously.

"Yes,"

"I had hoped that you would notice how rarely I go around kissing people…"

"I think it's more to the point that I actually want to hear you say it,"

"I love you, Harry."

"And using my first name, too! That must be bonus points,"

"Indeed," Snape grumbled. Harry's lips came back to his and they continued. Harry moved again, flattening Snapes legs and laying on the man, one leg going between Sevruses' right and left leg, the other going between the wall and Snapes left leg. Harry's chest rested against Snapes and his arms curled up behind his back, hands clutching to his shoulders. Both of Snape's hands came up to clasp loosely together on Harry's lower back. Soon Harry broke the kiss and slid down, head resting on Snape's chest, he stared into the dark. Snape leaned his head back against the wall and he too stared off, both of their minds running very similar paths.

"I suddenly find myself not longing for death," Harry said to the wall that he was facing.

"I should hope not," Severus said, voice tinged with something. Sadness, maybe. And then Harry fell into a contented sleep. Snape stayed awake, contemplating all the pain that this wound bring him, after he left the cell, knowing that when he returned he would find it empty. Though he knew he would disagree bitterly with himself later, he found himself thinking that it was worth it. Holding him this once, just briefly, it was worth it. He stayed that way for he didn't know how long; content just to hold the warm body that pressed against him, not wanting it to end. He was probably there for hours. Maybe he could stay in the cell with Harry, keep him alive somehow. He wondered if they would allow it. No one had said anything about how long he could stay. Surely they wouldn't want Harry Potter dead, and they wouldn't mind having Dumbledore's murderer back in Azkaban.

After what seemed like a century, he gently moved Harry so the other was laying face up on the bench and stood. He trailed a hand very lightly down the side of Harry's gaunt face; feeling the soft, feathery touches of the hair that was strewn about it. After a moment, he turned and left, the unbearable pain crashing over him, overwhelming him. He would come back anyway, hopeless as it was.

Harry felt the warmth desert him, faintly heard the cell door shut, and knew that when Snape returned to him, he would be too cold to warm.

A/N: Yes I know! SAD SAD SAD SAD SAD! I am a horrible author-lady and I'm condemned to death by spork wielding, zombie-bunnies of doom! I'm sorry! I just couldn't write out a little fairy tale ending, it felt like…cheating, for some reason. So…er…write a review and tell me how horrible I am, k? Loves!  
Kozi -

Oh, P.S.: Something I learned while writing this: Moved is one letter different that Loved. (I accidentally wrote loved in place of moved and realized that ;) )


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